


Gregarious

by Donotquestionme



Series: Strange Magic Series [1]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, Mostly Fluff, very very slight body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 03:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5568289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donotquestionme/pseuds/Donotquestionme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marianne suspects something is wrong with Bog but he insists he's fine. Marianne worries that Bog does not trust her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gregarious

**Author's Note:**

> Points to anyone who understands the meaning of the title or guesses what's going on before the end.

“Have you always been so dark?”

“On the contrary.” Bog replied to Marianne “I’ve been told I’m much ‘cheerier’ lately.” He made air quotes around the word “cheerier”

“It’s your dastardly effect on me, I suppose.” He smirked, leaning against the wall of main hall they were in.

Marianne sat on a bench near the long table. She rolled her eyes. “I mean physically.” She said. “Your ‘armor’ used to be grey, didn’t it? It looks nearly black.”

“You forget you’re in the _Dark_ Forest, Princess.” Bog said. “It’s not always as well lit as your pretty little kingdom.”

“I think I’ve been here enough times to get used to the lighting.” Marianne retorted. It was true. She’d been spending more and more time in the Dark Forest as of late, often staying for days at a time, much to her father’s chagrin. Though her alternative offer of letting Bog stay in the Fairy Kingdom quickly quieted him.

She stood up and walked over to inspect him closer. “I’m certain your skin wasn’t this yellow, either.” She turned his head gently with her hand.

Bog’s eyes drifted shut and he let out a contented sigh as her hand ran along his jawline.

Marianne chuckled and his eyes snapped open.  He coughed, embarrassed, and stood up straight, hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Sorry.” He said, blushing. “I’m just not really used to it… Closeness, I mean.” He averted his eyes.

“Well…” Marianne said softly, stepping forward to close the gap between them. “We’ll just have to get you more used to it.”

She ran her fingers lightly up the base of his back, eliciting an unintentional shiver and nervous giggle from Bog.

There was a ridge right down the center of his back, on either side of which were shallow furrows running all the way from his lower back up to the space between his wings. Marianne had discovered very early on that this was a very sensitive spot for him.

She didn’t tease him further, instead wrapping her arms around him gently.  

Bog did the same, his arms cradling her delicately.  He always held her so gently, like she was made of glass. He called her “tough girl” but always handled her like she was so fragile.

“Sire!” came a voice from the entryway.

She and Bog practically jumped apart.  They turned to see Thang in the doorway. Stuff was close at their side. The two of them were rarely apart nowadays.

 _“What?”_ Bog demanded, his anger masking his embarrassment.

“There’s a peach information in the mouth rake!” Thang reported, sounding far more confident in the accuracy of whatever he was trying to convey than he should have been.

Bog scowled.

Thang shrugged.

Marianne chuckled. “I think your message system is a little unreliable.” She said.

“My mushrooms are perfectly reliable.” Bog said. “It is their _interpreters_ who are useless.” He growled, sending another venomous look at Stuff and Thang, who took the cue to make themselves scarce.

Bog sighed and rolled his neck to crack it.

“I should see what’s actually going on.” He said. He looked to Marianne with a wry grin. “Duty may or may not call.”

“I’ll tag along.” Marianne said. “It’s a little dull around here without you while your mom is away.”

“Ah yes.” Bog sneered. “How upsetting it must be for you. While she’s visiting the other end of the Dark Forest, you can’t gossip together about me behind my back.”

“We don’t gossip about you behind your back.” Marianne smirked. “Just about the really embarrassing stuff.”

Bog pushed her playfully and Marianne pushed him back. They both gathered their weapons and left the hall together.

\-----------------------

“ _Leeches_ in the _south lake_.” Bog growled, surveying the scene.

He and Marianne stood on a small ledge overlooking the water.

Many of the aquatic and amphibious residents of the lake were lined up on or near the shore, having the slimy, writhing creatures removed. A team of medical goblins had their hands full caring to the afflicted, using broad, flat rods to break the leeches’ suction seals remove them without causing any more harm to those they’d attached themselves to.

Bog grit his teeth and rubbed his temple.

“You alright?” Marianne asked.

“A headache.” Bog said through clenched teeth. “This is a serious problem. Leeches mean the water’s not clean. It’s not being maintained properly.  Bad water means disease, not to mention the things the leeches carry themselves. It shouldn’t have been allowed to get this bad.”

With a growl, he turned and snapped at one of the goblins who’d accompanied them to the scene. “Who manages this area?” he demanded. “Bring them here.”

“Yes, Majesty!” The goblin chirped, then ran off.

“I have to say I’m a little surprised that the Dark Forest _has_ people who manage individual sections.” Marianne said.

“Naturally.” Bog said, still scowling. “I can’t keep the whole kingdom in order by myself. Honestly, this never even should have had to come to my attention. Some lout isn’t doing their job right and now people are suffering for it.” He kicked a small pebble off the ledge and into the water below. “Though I suppose once the traps are set up, someone out there will _eat_ well tonight.”

Marianne’s face twisted in disgust.

“People _eat_ these things?” She asked, looking at the wriggling, black, worm-like bodies of the leeches. Each was nearly the size of her head when fully engorged.

“Something has to.” Bog said with a grim smirk.

“Do you…?”

Bog made a disgusted noise. “Eugh. No. I can’t stand the things.” He said with a shiver.

“But, what I meant was I’m a little surprised that this kind of stuff is regulated at all.” Marianne said. “I was under the impression that most of the inhabitants just did their own thing, you know?” She shrugged, feeling embarrassed about her limited and misinformed views of Bog’s kingdom.

Bog laughed. “Trust me, Princess. If we didn’t regulate things around here, you’d know by now.”

“How do you mean?” Marianne asked.

“You think a spider looking for prey has any concept of a border?” Bog said. “Or that a leech can tell the difference between a Dark Forest lake and a Fairy Kingdom pond? We maintain the border. Keep things out _and_ in.”

“But…the Fairy Kingdom knights enforce our side of the border.” Marianne said.

“Ha. They’d like to think they do.” Bog said. “The occasional stray that wanders across may be caught by your knights, but the majority of the enforcing is from this side.”

“Why do their job for them, though?” Marianne asked. “The Dark Forest and the Fairy Kingdom have been enemies for ages. Why do something to help us?”

“Because,” Bog said with a sneer. “Your kingdom makes no distinction between the actions of my kingdom’s citizens and its _inhabitants_. As if I have any more control of the behavior of a hungry spider as your father does over a petulant sparrow. And I won’t be blamed for starting an all-out war because some air-headed fairy can’t tell the difference between a pile of leaves and a trapdoor spider’s hiding place.”

Marianne stared at the ground. “I guess you must not think very highly of us…” she said, sadly.

Bog’s face softened.  His brows knit together and he turned to face her.

“Marianne, I…I didn’t mean it like—“ He cut off sharply and grasped at his head with a hiss.

Marianne’s head snapped up. “Bog?”

Bog’s seemed to go weak at the knees, like he’d suddenly lost his sense of balance. He stumbled backwards toward the ledge. His eyes unfocused and his head lolled slightly like he was going to lose consciousness. Just then the soft earth of the edge of the ledge gave way under his back foot and he fell backwards.  His wings began to buzz as he tried right himself, but he hit the water before they could get going fast enough.

“Bog!” Marianne cried, and ran to the ledge. 

The fall had only been a few feet and Bog was already back on his feet by the time Marianne flew down. Bog was very tall, so the water only came up to his chest.

He looked so livid; she was surprised the water around him wasn’t boiling. Marianne was afraid to ask if he was ok. He stomped back to shore, face red with some mix of embarrassment and pure rage.

A small, warty goblin met him at the water’s edge.

“Uh…Majesty?” he squeaked.

“ _WHAT?_ ” Bog demanded.

The goblin shrunk back. “Um…I…I’m Grimwood. I oversee the lake. You…you asked for me?”

Bog drew himself up to his full height, towering over the smaller creature and glaring at him with such intensity, it was a wonder the man didn’t die on the spot.

Bog cracked his neck loudly and deliberately. Grimwood looked like he was going to pass out.

“The lake is unclean. Leeches breed in muck and debris.” Bog seethed, barely containing his anger. His voice was shaking with it as he continued. “Clean out the muck at the bottom of the lake and clear up any debris or plants crowding the shore. Get water flowing right again and set out traps. Get—“

“Um…Majesty?” Grimwood interrupted, his voice a high pitched whisper. He pointed toward Bog’s side.

Bog looked down to see a leech squirming on side, trying vainly to find purchase on his tough exoskeleton.

That seemed to be the last straw.

With a mighty howl of rage, Bog tore the leech from his side, turned, and threw the parasite so forcefully, it flew nearly halfway across the lake before splashing down into the water.”

 His head then snapped back around to Grimlock, who jumped in fear.

 _“IF THIS PLACE ISN’T CLEANED OUT BY THE NEXT TIME I COME HERE, I’LL USE YOUR CARCASS TO BAIT THE TRAPS!”_ He bellowed.

Without waiting for the terrified goblin’s response, Bog took off into the air, whizzing past Marianne and back into the forest.

Marianne picked up his staff which he’d dropped on the ledge and followed after him.

She found him a good ways off, standing on a tree branch, forehead pressed against the trunk.

“What happened back there?” She asked, landing next to him.

Bog didn’t turn to look at her.

“I fell into a leech infested lake in front of my subjects and made a complete and utter fool out of myself.” he moaned.

“Why, though?” Marianne pressed.

Now Bog did turn to look at her, distraught.

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” he cried.

Marianne couldn’t help but chuckle at the look of cartoonish despair on his face and how he’d misunderstood her question. He was like an embarrassed teenager. It made her wonder how many of his famous rages were just him masking feeling embarrassed or insecure.

“Don’t laugh!” He snapped. “I’ll never live this down!”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad.” Marianne assured him, trying to stifle her giggling. “Really.”

Bog seemed unconvinced.

“I’m sure your fearsome image won’t be ruined by one accidental dip in a lake.” Marianne said. Then her smirk faded. “Are you alright, though?”

“Only my pride is wounded.” Bog sighed, finally lifting his head away from the tree trunk. He inspected the spot where the leech had attached itself. “The disgusting thing couldn’t get through my armor.”

“Before you fell, I mean, you looked like you were going to pass out.”

“Oh. I…” A frown tugged at the corner of Bog’s mouth, as if he’d forgotten about what it was that had actually caused his embarrassing blunder. “I just got sort of lightheaded all the sudden.” Noticing the concern on Marianne’s face, he quickly added “It’s nothing, though. I’m fine. I think I’m just hungry.” As if to prove his point, his stomach growled loudly.

Bog wrapped his arms around his abdomen. “I…I think that might be exactly what it was. I really need to eat something.” He groaned.

“You’ve eaten three times today. You just ate an hour ago!” Marianne said accusingly, still feeling like he was trying to dodge the question.

“Well, nothing works up an appetite like humiliating yourself in front of dozens of your subjects.” Bog retorted dryly.

Marianne rolled her eyes and chuckled, passing him is staff. “Alright, drama queen, let’s get back to the castle before it gets too dark.”

\-----------------------

“I don’t know how you can have had one of those things stuck to you and still have an appetite to eat anything, no matter how much you’ve had.” Marianne said, prodding at her food with no apparent desire to actually ingest any of it.

“When you’ve lived in the Dark Forest for as long as I ‘ave, you tend to develop a pretty strong stomach.” Bog said, finishing his third helping of a goblin dish that Marianne had already forgotten the name of. “And I don’t know why, but I’ve been so hungry lately.”

Marianne frowned. “You’re _sure_ you’re feeling alright?”

“You worry too much, Marianne.” Bog said, smiling reassuringly. “ ’m fine. Really. Besides, who was the one who won the race on the way back here? Ye even had to take a break halfway through.”

“The flight was over a mile.” Marianne retorted. “And you’re the one who usually gets tired first when we fly. You wouldn’t have made it all the way back without a break.”

“Bet I could have.” Bog said with a smirk. “I didn’t even break a sweat.”

“Oh really?” Marianne said, cocking an eyebrow. “Then why are you still sweating now?”

Bog’s smirk faded.

“Am I?” He asked, his voice distant. He wiped his forehead to see that there was indeed sweat beading there.

“Didne feel like I was.”

Marianne then noticed that he was breathing harder than usual. She pressed two fingers just underneath his jaw.

Bog jumped at the unexpected contact.

“Wh-what’re ye doing?” He stammered.

“Shh.” Marianne hushed him, concentrating.

“Your pulse is fast.” She said. “Very fast.”

She shook her head slightly.

“Something’s not right.” She said. “I think you’re getting sick. The headache, the dizziness. Your skin is even darker than earlier.”

Bog glanced away nervously. 

“Ah…Ahm fine. Honestly.” He said. “Aam sure it's naethin.'”

Marianne only narrowed her eyes.

“Eh…Why don’ ye just go to bed?” He suggested. “I’ll be in in a bit, yea?”

Marianne scowled, but reluctantly agreed.

“Don’t think this is over.” She said.

She hated feeling like Bog was hiding things from her, but, once he got cagey, there was no point trying to get anything out of him. It frustrated her. She stood from the table and headed towards the bedchamber, but turned to look back at Bog.

He was hunched over, shoulders raised higher than his head. He did that when he was uncomfortable. Normally Marianne found it endearing, but now it just seemed worrying.

“I care about you, you know.” She said, sounding a bit harsher than she’d really intended to.

“Aye.” Bog said, softly. “I know.”

Seeing that she’d get no more from him, Marianne left the hall and headed to bed. She’d try to pry an answer from him when he joined her. Bog always seemed to be more open when it was just the two of them, pressed close to each other in still quiet of the night.

It was nearly two hours before Bog joined Marianne in the bedroom. Marianne sat in bed, a mixture of worry and anger brewing in her stomach.

She was about to get up to go find him when showed up in the doorway, leaning against the frame heavily.

“Hey…yooou…” He said, thickly.

Marianne quirked an eyebrow. “…Hey?”

Bog smiled a wide, crooked smile.

“’Ow’re ye…tedeay--Tonecht?” Bog continued, accent thick and speech slurred.

“Um…are you feeling ok, Bog?” Marianne asked.

“Ah..Aam stoat.” He said, still grinning. “Aam fantahstic. I’ve ne'er bin better in mah whole life. I…I…” he seemed unable to find suitable words, so he just nodded intently.

Marianne was taken aback. She’d never seen him like this. “Bog…”she said. “Are you…are you drunk?!”

“Nooooooooooo.” Bog said, thoroughly dragging out the “oo” sound.

He leaned off of the doorframe and stumbled towards the bed, his sense of balance clearly impaired. The task of actually maneuvering himself onto the bed must have seemed too difficult for him in his current state, as he opted to let himself just flop directly on top of Marianne, knocking the wind out of her.

Bog seemed utterly unphased by her subsequent noise of shock and discomfort. He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck.

“Yer so sooooft.”he mumbled, blissfully.

“I can’t _believe_ this!” Marianne said. “You _are_ drunk!”

“Drohnk an…an _ye_ , mebbe.” He said, resting his chin against her chest to look at her.

He stared at her like she was some kind of precious gem or other priceless treasure.

“Yoo’re th’…th’ most beautiful hin’ I’ve e’er seen in…in mah whole life.” He breathed, awestruck.

“Flatterer.” Marianne quipped.  She was finding it hard to stay mad at him. As annoyed as she was with sober Bog for using alcohol to avoid having an honest conversation with her, drunk Bog was unexpectedly sweet.

Bog wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tightly.

“Ah love ye sooooooo much.” He said. “Yoo’re th’ bess thin’ ever happen t’me.”

“I would have gotten you drunk a lot sooner if I’d known you were going to be this nice to me.” Marianne said, wryly.

“ ‘m nae…”Bog muttered, then seemed to lose his train of thought. “I jess love ye so _much_.” He reiterated.  “There should be a mill’un people jess like ye.” He said, then his face lit up.

“We should ‘ave kids!” he proclaimed, beaming.

Marianne snorted with laughter and surprise. They’d never even _touched_ the subject of children.

“You think so?” She said, fighting back a fit of giggles.

“Yea…we shud…we shud jess go som’er faaar away an’… an’ have a…a _million_ kids.” He continued.

“A million, huh?”

“A’… a’ _leest_  a million.” Bog nodded.

Marianne chuckled. “You hate kids.” She reminded him.

“I know, right?” Bog said. “I’s weird but I jess look’t ye and think…there outta be a…a million people jess like ‘er.”

Marianne smiled. “They’d be like you, too, you know.”

“Yea?” Bog said, voice cracking. He was beaming as if that was simultaneously a concept that had never even vaguely occurred to him, and the best news he’d ever heard in his entire life.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck again, sniffling.

“Bog, are you crying?” Marianne asked, smiling down at him.

“Ye jess make me so happy.” He wept. “I lov’ ye so much.”

“I love you, too.” Marianne said softly.

Those small words seemed to break Bog, who started openly weeping, clutching Marianne tightly.

“Shh…” Marianne hushed him softly. “Why don’t you get some sleep. I have a feeling you’re going to be hurting tomorrow.” She chuckled. “Unless goblins are as immune to the after effects of alcohol as some of your subjects like to say.”

Bog shook his head, his rough forehead rubbing against her collarbone.

“Uh-uh. Didne.” He said, insistently. “Nothin’. I swear…” His voice trailed off, sleepily.

Marianne stroked his head softly until she felt his breath even out into the deep, rhythmic breathing of sleep.

His fierce grip on her, however, did not soften and the sharpness of his claws and spines started digging into her skin a bit. She tried to shift him off of her slightly, but it was no use.  Though she was loath to admit it, Bog had her beat in terms of raw strength, but this was different. It was like his arms were made of solid stone, utterly immobile.  Had he put on muscle? His arms looked thicker, but it may have just been a trick of the light. His now dark exoskeleton was hard to distinguish in the darkness of the room.

“Bog.” She said, trying to nudge him awake. “ _Bog._ ”

It was no use. He was out cold.

Marianne’s lips drew into a tight line. She’d never seen Bog this inebriated before.

Come to think of it, she’d never seen him inebriated at all. She couldn’t even think of a single time she’d seen him drink anything.  She sniffed him to find that he didn’t smell like alcohol, least of all like the overpoweringly strong smelling stuff goblins drank.

It occurred to her that he may have been telling the truth about not being drunk. That was worrying. That was _very_ worrying.

Marianne was sure there was something wrong, but, for whatever reason, Bog wouldn’t admit it. He was always cagey whenever it came to talking about anything to do with his biology. Maybe he just figured a fairy could never understand anything about how goblins worked. She’d always tried so hard to learn about him and his kingdom, even before she’d known him personally, but it still seemed there was so much she didn’t understand.

Maybe wouldn’t ever understand. Or _couldn’t._

With a defeated sigh, she shifted herself as best she could away from Bog’s sharper edges and closed her eyes.

\-----------------------

Marianne woke to a conspicuous absence of warmth. It took her sleep-muddled mind a few moments to piece together the cause.

Bog was gone.

Bog never got up before her. Even when he did wake up before her, he always stayed curled up with her until she awoke, as if holding on to every moment with her that he could. He pretended he was still asleep, but Marianne could always tell.

But this morning he wasn’t there.

The room was still mostly dark, only the first few rays of the morning sun peeking through the windows. What would have gotten him up so early?

She sat up and stretched, the worry from last night still formed a knot of anxiety in her gut and this wasn’t making it any better. She swung her legs off the side of the bed and stood up to go find the elusive King, and hopefully finally get an explanation.

Marianne found Bog in the great hall, sitting pressed up against the door to one of the smaller dining halls. She was about to make a jab about his odd choice of seating, but the look of utter panic and terror on his face gave her pause.

Her eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“Bog, what’s going on?” She asked, walking to him kneeling down beside him.

Bog didn’t look towards her.

Staring wide-eyed ahead of him he whispered, sounding horrified “I want to be in the other room.”

Marianne blinked, confused.

“What?” she said.

Bog turned to look her in the eye. His eyes were filled with sheer panic.

“I want to be _in the other room_.” He repeated with more force, and gestured with a quick head movement to the door behind him.

Marianne then noticed how hard he was pressing himself against the door, as if he planned to phase through it with enough force.

“Then… go into the other room?” Marianne offered, still thoroughly confused and beginning to grow concerned.

“There are _goblins in the other room._ ” He said, insistently, as if she were missing something very obvious.

“Ask them to leave.” Marianne said, at which Bog let out a cry of frustration.

“I want to be in the other room _because_ there are goblins in there!” He cried, claws clutching at his head in frustration and fear.

“Bog, you’re not making any sense!” Marianne said. “Why is this upsetting you so much?”

“Because I _hate_ being around people!” Bog growled. “I usually avoid my subjects whenever I can but now…” He clutched at the door behind him, claws digging into the wood.

“Now I _desperately_ want to be around other people.” He moaned, his anger seeming to instantly melt into a fearful sorrow. “It’s not just a want, it’s like a _need_.  Like I…C _an’t. Be. Alone._ ”  

His eyes started to well with tears of frustration and confusion.  He looked to Marianne pitifully.

“There’s something wrong with me, Marianne.” He breathed. “There’s something horribly wrong with me. I can’t stop eating. I can’t stop shaking. I can’t control my emotions. I can’t _think_ straight.”

He held his hands out as if pleading.

“I’m the wrong color.” He said in practically a sob.

It was true. The color difference was even more pronounced today than it had been the night before.  Where he had been a light, greenish-grey, he was now nearly jet black. Where he’d been very light grey or white, he was now a dark but intense gold color. Even his once light blue eyes were dark and seemed to have a tint of red or brown to them.

Not only his coloration was different, but his build had even changed.  His arms and legs were undoubtedly thicker and more muscular.

Panic was starting to well in Marianne as well. This was not something she had been prepared for. She had assumed that Bog was keeping something from her. It hadn’t occurred to her that he was also completely in the dark. There were a lot of things she didn’t know about goblins in general, and Bog seemed to be unique even by goblin standards.  There were countless things about his physiology that she didn’t understand, but _he_ always did. This was something Bog had clearly never dealt with before. If he didn’t know what was happening to him, who possibly could?

Then it hit her.

“We need to get you to Griselda.” Marianne said.

“What could my mother do?” Bog asked, still clearly struggling with the compulsion to go into the other room.

“If this is something genetic or inherited or something, she’s the only one who knows your family history, right?” Marianne said. “If anyone knows what’s going on with you, it’s her.”

“Maybe…” Bog hissed through clenched teeth. The goblins in the other hall had begun to make noise and it was obviously making this more difficult for him than it already was. “But she’s on the other side of the forest.  It’ll take so long to fly there and--” He hissed suddenly, claws tearing deep furrows into the floor. His eyes screwed shut.

“I…I don’t know if I can make it that far.” He said, voice strained. “I can’t be…I need to…to…”  He glanced back at the door behind him. Whatever war he was fighting with himself, he seemed to be losing.

“Hey, hey. Snap out of it.” Marianne said. “We’ll fix this. You can’t give in now.”

“Well, what do you know?!” Bog snapped, viciously. “You’re just a _fairy!”_

Marianne was taken aback. She winced as if his words had been a physical blow.

Bog’s face then immediately snapped into one of horror and regret. He clamped his hands over his mouth, shaking his head.

“I-I-I…I didn’t…! I-I’m so…I…I can’t…” he stammered, looking mortified. He let out a pained moan and put his head in his hands. “I dunno what’s _happening_ t’ me!” he sobbed.

Marianne took Bog’s chin in her hand, angling his head up to look her in the eye.

“We need to get you to your mother.” She said, voice calm, but intense. It was a command, not a statement.

Bog nodded.

\-----------------------

With how hard standing and walking were, Bog had assumed flying would be all but impossible.  Surprisingly, it turned out to be quite the opposite. Flying felt easier than ever. Marianne had quickly fallen behind him so often that eventually he’d opted to just carry her. Even with her added weight, it still seemed easier than normal to fly.

More than just easy, it felt _right._

Flying _alone,_ however, felt wrong.

Very wrong.

The sky over the forest seemed so vast and empty, it was suffocating. Bog felt like the sheer emptiness would tear him apart. He felt so exposed.  He tried to push the feeling away, but it kept creeping back into his brain like some thick, clawing bramble.

_Need to be around others. Can’t be alone. Alone alone alone alone alone alone alone._

He clutched Marianne even tighter to him. She was the only thing between him and outright panic. He knew he was holding her too tightly. His claws were digging into her soft skin, not yet wounding her, but not far from it.

 _Be careful!_  A familiar voice warned him in his head. _You’re all claws and spines and spikes! You’ll hurt her!_

He wanted to heed its warning, but he just _couldn’t_. He felt as though he’d fall apart.

Bog wondered, in earnest, if he’d lost his mind. It was suddenly a terrifyingly real possibility.  He’d been trying to ignore this- whatever it was - for the past few days, playing it down and hoping it would just go away on its own.

He’d never been that lucky.

This morning it had become obvious that this was not something he could ignore. He’d had to get up early to eat.  A largely increased appetite was the most annoyingly prominent symptom of whatever was happening to him. Hunger had woken him from a deep sleep that he did not remember entering. He had no recollection of how he’d gotten to bed or why he was clinging to Marianne like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood.

He had been reluctant to leave her. He never got up before her. He would always wait for her to wake up first, though she didn’t know that. He always pretended to be asleep.  This morning, he simply had no choice.

Even with the abnormal hunger, things didn’t come to a head until he was in one of the dining halls and heard a noise from an adjacent hall that alerted him to the presence of other goblins within.

Then a feeling hit him like an avalanche.

An overwhelming, all-consuming NEED to go in the other room and join them crowded out every other thought and instinct in his mind.  He was already at the door, about to go in, when he got a hold of himself and pried his hand away from the door handle.  His pride and fear kept him from going in, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave either, so he’d just slumped to the floor, pressed against the door. He had no idea how long it was before Marianne found him. It had felt like an eternity.

He growled in frustration.

Of all the weeks for his mother to be visiting friends on the other side of the forest! If she’d been here, maybe it would have never gotten this bad.  He could have kept Marianne from seeing him like this. Wouldn’t have snapped at her like that…

He pushed those thoughts away as well.

\-----------------------

Finally, _finally,_ they arrived at their destination, a small stone cottage, jutting out from a larger rock. It belonged to a goblin named Brier whom Griselda had been friends with for some time.  

Her quest to find Bog love now complete, Griselda seemed to be taking more time for herself to do things like visit old friends. No doubt she also wanted to give her son a bit of privacy when his fairy love was visiting.

Griselda was already outside waiting for them when Bog landed. The cottage was in a fairly open part of the forest, so she had been able to see them coming.

Bog put Marianne down but it took him a moment, and a good deal of effort, to let go of her. 

“Sweeties!” Griselda said, beaming. “What are you two love-bugs doing all the way out here?”

“I’m sick, Ma.” Bog said miserably, kneeling down to be closer to her level.

Griselda seemed to take note of Bog’s change in appearance. Her smile faded.

“Woof.” She huffed. “I’ll say. What’s the matter with ya?”

“I dunno.” Bog moaned. “I been so hungry I can’t stand it. I can barely walk for shaking and light headedness but I can fly better’n ever. I feel sick. I feel _wrong._ Like I can’t be alone. I dunno what t’ do.”

It was so strange to see Bog act this way around his mother. Marianne had almost never heard Bog refer to Griselda as anything other than “Mother” or, on rare occasion “Mom”. Never “Ma”.  He was normally so curt with her.  The two of them obviously loved each other, but they seemed to show it mostly through teasing and empty insults, occasionally peppered with instances of deep concern. But this was different. It was like…well, like a child and their mother. Sick and scared and looking for comfort.

“We figured, if anyone would know what to do, it’d be you.” Marianne said.

Griselda sighed. “I can’t leave you alone for two minutes.” She said.

“ _This isn’t a joke!”_ Bog snapped, then winced. “Sorry.” He said.

“The mood swings seem to be part of it.” Marianne explained.

Griselda rubbed her chin contemplatively.

“It sounds like something wrong with your head, but I can’t think of much that’d make you change color like that…” She said, then something seemed to dawn on her.

And she started laughing.

 _“THIS ISN’T FUNNY!”_ Bog bellowed.

“Not for you, maybe.” Griselda snickered. “You poor thing.” She chuckled.

“Wait, wait.” Marianne said. “Do you know what’s wrong with Bog?”

“Oh I know, alright.” Griselda said, still grinning.

“THEN TELL ME, YOU INFURIATING WOMAN!” Bog demanded, still seething.

“You’re swarming.” Griselda said.

That seemed to instantly quell Bog’s anger.

He blinked, baffled.

“What?” he said.

Griselda laughed again at Bog and Marianne’s confused expressions.

“Or trying to.” She added. “Pretty hard to be a decent swarm all by your lonesome, huh?”

“…Swarming?” Marianne asked. “What does that mean?”

“You’re not making any sense!” Bog cried.

“Alright alright, let me explain.” Griselda said, waving a hand dismissively. “Some insects, and goblins, obviously, have this built in reaction to overcrowding. It sets off some kinda chemical in their brain, makes ‘em act all screwy.  Their bodies change and they form swarms to find new places to live.”

Marianne shook her head in disbelief. “What…like locusts?”

“Exactly!” Griselda said.

Bog growled.

“This is utter nonsense. I am _not_ ‘swarming’.” He said.

“No?” said Griselda with a smirk. “So you don’t feel like you want to be around a thousand other people and fly far away, eating everything in sight?”

Bog’s shoulders slumped and he just stared, dumbfounded, for a moment. Obviously she’d hit the nail fairly well on the head.

“But…but…” he stammered. “Why would that be happening _now?_ We’re not overcrowded!”

Griselda chuckled again. Obviously this was whatever she had found so funny.

“That’s true, but there are other things that can trick the brain into producing those chemicals.” She said, a wicked grin on her lips. “Little things like spending more time in the sun can do a little but mostly…an sudden increase in physical touch.” She winked.

Marianne felt her whole face grow hot.

“…W-wait…so…” Marianne stammered, trying to wrap her head around this information. “Bog is sick because I’ve…we…”

Bog’s face was in his hands. “You _must_ be joking.” He moaned.

Marianne felt her heart clench with something other than embarrassment.

“Then…I’m the reason Bog is sick?” She asked.

Griselda made a “pff”ing noise.

“Bog’s ‘sick’ because he’s shut himself off from any kind of contact for years and now his body doesn’t know how to handle it.” She corrected, folding her arms.

“But can we _fix_ it?” Bog asked, words muffled by his hands, still over his face.

“Oh sure.” Griselda assured. “He just needs to be in solitary confinement for a week or two.”

At that, Bog’s head snapped up.

“What?!” he cried. “No. No no no nooooo! I-I-I can’t be _alone_! For two weeks I-I can’t!”

“That’s just your brain juices talking.” Griselda said, then turned to Marianne. “You should probably head home, hon.”

“Wait, home?” Bog asked, his voice starting to sound desperate. “Back to the Fairy Kingdom? Why?”

“There’s no sense in her waiting around the Dark Forest when you’re locked up in your room.” Griselda said. “May as well go home and spend some time with her family.”

Bog looked to Marianne with eyes that looked as reluctant to see her go as she felt to leave. It seemed almost cruel to leave him in such a state, but Griselda was right. The time she was able to get away from the Fairy Kingdom to see Bog was so limited; it would be foolish to waste it by sticking around when they couldn’t even see each other.

Bog seemed to realize this too. He reached out a hand to her, but pulled it back, instead wrapping his arms around himself tightly.

“Of…of course.” He said, voice both sad and strained. “I’m so sorry about this, Marianne.”

Marianne wanted so badly to embrace him, to give him some amount of comfort, but it would only make things worse.

“I’m just glad you’re going to be alright.” Marianne said. “Focus on getting better. I’ll see you as soon as you’re out. I promise.”

Bog only nodded in reply.

\-----------------------

The first week of solitary confinement was hellish.

Bog’s mental state had quickly broken down so much that the first three days of it were just a feverish blur in his memory.  The constant state of panic and anxiety had kept him from sleeping and his body, not taking all the rapid changes it had undergone very well, was revolting in the form or rejecting any food that he tried to eat. He hadn’t been able to keep anything down for more than an hour. Headaches were constant and intense.

Despite telling himself he wouldn’t, he’d tried to escape three times, but his mother had put some kind of very heavy rock on the other side of the door. Even if he’d broken it down, he couldn’t have gotten out.  It was only moved when she brought him his meals. She made sure to talk to him through the door, even on the days he had been too sick to respond.

Bog was glad Marianne wasn’t around to hear how many of his side of those conversations had turned into enraged shouting or tearful begging.

Now it was five days into the second week and Bog had finally been able to get some decent sleep. He lay on his back, enjoying his current lack of headache or nausea.

His color was almost completely back to normal, as was his build. His appetite was back to a reasonable amount and he was actually quite glad to be alone. His whole body felt weary and worn out, having gone through so much change in so short an amount of time. The last thing he needed was his subjects pestering him.

A worrisome thought, however, would not leave him.  It had been brewing in his mind since his mother had first revealed what was happening to him.

This had happened because Marianne and he were together. He’d been so touched starved for so long, he’d reveled in the closeness.  The touches, kisses, embraces they’d both denied themselves so long fueling a desperate desire to feel and be felt as much as possible.

But apparently that had triggered something in his mind to go…wrong.  What did that mean for them now? Could they never be close without fear of some unknown and unnatural part of him causing havoc? Could they never be close at all?

Yet again it seemed his freakish nature drove a wedge between him and others. Even Marianne.

He pushed these thoughts aside, focusing on the softness of the bed and the pleasant warmth of the room until sleep again overcame him.

Something began to draw him out of his peaceful slumber, a soft and gentle stroking along his jaw.

He smiled sleepily.

“I must still be dreaming.” He breathed, then opened his eyes.

“Marianne.” He said, in wonder. 

She looked like an angel, framed in the morning sunlight. She sat on the edge of the bed, smiling back.

“How’s the one man plague?” She asked with a smirk.

Bog inhaled deeply and propped himself up on his arm, stretching a bit.

“I think I’ve stopped _throwing up,_ for the moment, at least.” He said, wryly.

“I’ve got to say,” Marianne said, looking around the room. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

Bog then suddenly realized the state his quarters were in.  Moss was strewn about the room from when he had torn the bedding to shreds. The door and walls bore obvious scratch marks. The contents of the bookcase he’d knocked over littered the floor. There were even small bits of his exoskeleton in places from when he’d started obsessively picking at his skin.

“Oh…I..uh…” Bog stammered, ashamed. He tried to change the subject. “W-what are you doing here? I’ve still got two days left, don’t I?”

“Your mom you were well enough for a visit. A reward for good behavior, she said.”

Bog quirked an eyebrow. “Is that so?” he asked. He hardly thought his recent behavior would deserve any reward in his mother’s eyes.

“Honestly I think she just wanted me to check on you.” Marianne explained. “She’s really worried, you know.”

“Worried?” Bog said, somewhat astonished. “About me?”

“Of course! Bog, you scared everyone half to death with this!”

Bog felt a pang of guilt.

“But…she was the one who knew what it was! She knew it wasn’t anything life-threatening.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not terrifying to watch someone you love get so sick.”

Bog averted his eyes, brows knitting together.

His mother always seemed so nonchalant about everything. Even when he’d almost died in the castle collapse, she’d handled him so roughly. She would laugh and tease him more often than coddle him. Could it be that that was just her way of covering up her own anxiety?  Bog was too lost in his thoughts to really notice when Marianne spoke.

“Speaking of which…”

Bog was instantly jolted out of his thoughts when Marianne’s closed fist came down hard on the top of his head.

“AH!” He yelped. “You hit me! Don’t _hit_ me, I’m sick!”

“You _are_ sick!” Marianne said, jabbing a finger into his chest. “And you _knew_ that you were! You _knew_ something was wrong, and yet you kept acting like I was overreacting!”

Bog grimaced. He had vainly hoped that he’d be able to avoid this particular conversation.

“I…I didn’t want you to…” he paused for a split second, considering his words. “…to worry.”

“Worry?!” Marianne cried. “I was worried _sick_ about you already! And, what, you thought _lying to me_ would help?”

“I didn’t lie!” Bog said, hastily, then corrected himself. “Well, I didn’t lie _per say._ I mean, I didn’t know what was going on either!”

“Then why not just _tell_ me that?” Marianne demanded. “Did you not think I would understand? Because I’m just some ‘air-headed fairy’?”

“No! It’s not--” Bog tried to interject, but Marianne cut him off.

“I know I don’t know everything about the Dark Forest and about you but…”  She clenched her fist and Bog could see a flush rising to her cheeks. “I’m trying. I really am. And maybe there are things I just can’t understand, maybe I _am_ just a naïve princess who only knows goblins through stories and rumor, but…I need you to have faith in me to change that.” To his horror, Bog could see tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

Bog’s heart felt like it would tear in two. He cursed himself silently. What a fool he was! All this time, she thought it was because he didn’t trust her? That, for even a moment, he didn’t wholeheartedly believe in her? How could he have let her believe that he didn’t trust her to understand him and his kingdom? He wanted so badly to show her his world, to bring her into it, to bare every inch of his soul to her but…

“Marianne, you must believe me it was never _never_ anything like that!” He begged. “Gods, Marianne, you can’t honestly believe I could ever see you like that. As anything other than the most capable, intelligent…” He struggled for words. “I have _nothing_ but faith in you.”

“Then why didn’t you trust me?” Marianne asked, voice calm, but eyes intense.

“It wasn’t trust! I just didn’t…didn’t…”Bog fumbled with his words.

“Didn’t _what?”_

“I didn’t want you to think I was--!” Bog cut off, still struggling to express himself properly.  He sighed in defeat, voice dropping to a whisper. “… _weird.”_

This was obviously not the answer Marianne had been expecting. She blinked and, after a moment of stunned silence said:

“What?”

“I didn’t want you to think I was weird, alright?” Bog said, face feeling hot with embarrassment. “I’m not…I’m not like other goblins.” His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know everything there is to know about myself. I think this whole mess makes that rather obvious. But I didn’t want _you_ to know that. I didn’t want you to look at me...and see a freak.”

“Bog…” Marianne said softly. “Just because you’re ‘abnormal’ by goblin standards doesn’t make you a freak. You know I don’t care about—“

“It’s not just that!” Bog cut her off. “I’m not just ‘abnormal’. I’m _nothing_ like other goblins! The only one in the whole world who was anything like me was my father, and he died before I was even born.” He looked at his hands. “I’m spines and spikes where others are soft. I got wings when nobody else does. And now all _this_.” He sighed. “I’m just… _different_.” He said, dejectedly, hanging his head.

“You are…different.” Marianne said, then gave a small, wry, grin. “That’s what I like.”

Bog looked up to look her in the eye. A small, sad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Then he sighed.

“I’m sorry I lied to you.” He said. “And I’m sorry for having put you through all this. If I’d just been upfront with you, it may never have gotten as bad as it did.”

“Well, it wasn’t _all_ bad.” Marianne said with a smirk. “Swarming Bog had his moments.”

“How do you mean?” Bog asked.

“You were pretty charming that night.” Marianne said. “In a ‘high on brain chemicals’ kind of way.”

“That…night…?” Bog’s eyebrows knit together. “I…I don’t remember much of it…Everything's a bit of a blur.”

Marianne’s smirk started growing into a wicked smile that Bog didn’t quite like the look of.

“What’s the last thing you remember from that night?” She asked.

Bog thought for a moment.

“I...I remember having dinner.” He said. “That’s when everything started getting fuzzy. I couldn’t think quite straight. I remember you going to bed. I remember trying to sort myself out then…nothing. Waking up the next day.” He paused. “Why…?” he asked cautiously. “Did I…did I _do_ something?”

“Oh nothing much.” Marianne said with a mock tone of nonchalance. “You just told me how I was ‘the best thing that ever happened to you’ and how much you _loved_ me and how you wanted to ‘fly far away and have a million kids.’”

Bog’s face burned with embarrassment. He covered his face with his hands and slid down into a lying position.

“I _didn’t!”_ he said, his tone pleading.

“At _least_ a million, you said.” Marianne said.

Bog moaned and flipped over onto his stomach, face in his pillow.

“This is just insult to injury.” He groaned.

Marianne chuckled.

“It was sweet.” She said.

“Oh, yes I’m _sure_.” Bog groaned. “I’m sure those were your _exact_ thoughts at the time.”

“I thought you were drunk.” Marianne said.

Bog moaned again.

 Marianne gave a wicked smirk and leaned closer to him, the lightly walked her fingers up his spine.

Bog instantly flipped around as if he’d been electrocuted.

“Marianne!” He cried. “What are you doing? I don’t want to go through this all over again.” he moaned.

Marianne’s grin, however, did not fade, despite Bog’s alarm.

“Well, as it’s been explained to me.” She said. “This happened because you went from having so little physical contact to so much in such a short amount of time. So…” she leaned in closer, putting one hand down on the opposite side of him to support herself. “We’ve just got to raise your baseline.”

Bog noticed just how close the two of them were now, with her practically on top of him. His heart started beating a bit faster in his chest.

“How…how do you mean?” he asked, voice faltering a bit. Gods, how could she still make him so nervous?

“Take things slow, but steady.” Marianne explained. “Get your body used to touch, then keep that baseline high.” She gave him a sly look and he caught her meaning.

“I…I think I could handle that.” Bog said.

His heart pounded loudly in his ears as she leaned in. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes slid shut.

Then he felt her place a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

Bog opened his eyes again as Marianne leaned back away from him.

“But...”She said, with a sly smirk. “You’ve still got two days left.”

She stood up and Bog propped himself up on his arm, trying to regain his composure.

“You…are _wicked._ ” He groused.

“I’ve been called worse.” Marianne said with a shrug. “See you in two days.”

She opened the door and stepped out, then closed it behind her. Bog heard the lock click.

He slid back down with a groan and made a harsh note to himself never to keep Marianne in the dark about anything again.

These were going to be a _very_ long two days.

**Author's Note:**

> *posts on AO3 10 months after saying I would*
> 
> I see your “molting Bog” headcanon and raise you one “swarming Bog”
> 
> The chemical that makes bugs like locusts swarm is Serotonin. In locusts, it gets triggered by prolonged stroking of sensitive hairs on the back of their legs. Read all about it on wikipedia, lord knows I did.  
> Serotonin is also commonly associated with depression because it’s the chemical that lets us feel sensations of reward and such and having either too much or too little of is generally a cause of depression. Throughout the fic, Bog starts showing signs of having too much serotonin and starts having symptoms of ‘serotonin syndrome’, and that’s why he gets so sick. As far as I know, locusts don’t do that, but Bog is also very human-like so I figured I’d give him to worst of both worlds. Good for him.
> 
> Read ‘increased physical touch’ however you want. I personally just read it as physical closeness ie kisses, hugs, etc but it’s written in such a way that you can interpret it as sexual if you want.
> 
> Also, when Marianne refers to Bog as "the one man plague", /I/ was making a biblical reference but Marianne, who obviously wouldn't know anything about human religion, was referencing the fact that a group of locusts is called a "plague". See what I did there. Sneaky sneaky.


End file.
